Hidden Deception. Leann Harris

      A noise sounded downstairs.

      Elena moved to the door and listened. She knew someone was down in the supposedly empty store. She turned off the light and reached for the phone, dialing 9-1-1. When the operator answered, she whispered her situation.

      Pocketing the phone, she slipped out of the office and walked to the top of the stairs to listen. After a moment, she heard something move. She slipped back into the office and dug for Daniel’s phone number. He answered on the second ring.

      “Daniel, there’s someone in the store.”

      “Elena?”

      “Hurry.” She heard someone walking up the treads and hung up. Where could she hide? The office had a large window with a fire escape. She hurried there, hoping she could beat the intruder. The old window hadn’t been opened in years. She unlatched the window and pulled. It sounded as if the gates of a dungeon were opening, but it was her only hope.

      LEANN HARRIS

      Leann has always had stories running around inside her head. When her youngest child started elementary school, she finally gathered her nerve and began writing. She joined RWA in 1987 and is a charter member of Dallas Area Romance Authors and former president. Her first published novel was a finalist in the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart contest and was nominated by Romantic Times BOOKreviews as one of the best first novels in 1993. The author of eleven novels, her latest book is her first for Steeple Hill. She has a BS in speech from the University of Texas at Austin and is a certified teacher of the deaf, teaching deaf high school students algebra and chemistry. She’s been married for thirty-five years and has two grown children.

      Hidden Deception

      Leann Harris

      The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble. He cares for those who trust in him.

      —Nahum 1:7

      I’d like to thank:

      My sweet husband, who cooked a lot of dinners.

      My mom who always encouraged me.

      And Sharon Mignerey,

       who is the best “what if” partner.

      Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      EPILOGUE

      QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

      ONE

      Something was wrong.

      Elena Segura Jackson stared at the open back door of her family’s antique shop.

      “Hello.” Her voice echoed in the empty room. A shiver ran up her spine. “Joyce, are you here?” This was Joyce’s night to lock up. Elena listened for a moment more. Nothing.

      “Don’t be silly,” she chided herself. “You’re acting like a five-year-old.”

      Shaking off her apprehension, she moved inside. Where was the inside security light? Reaching for the switch, she flicked it on. Nothing happened.

      Her stomach sank. Taking a deep breath, she called out again, “Joyce.”

      The outside light did little to penetrate the vast darkness of the store. It was like walking into a cave, wondering what she’d find with her next step. She bumped into several pieces of furniture. Slowly, she made her way from piece to piece moving toward the stairs in the center of the room. The papers she needed were upstairs in her office. Halfway across the room, she stumbled and caught herself on the back of a chair.

      “Wha—” She looked down. Her eyes followed a pair of legs up to a skirt and a blouse. The body lay against the large Spanish chest.

      Slowly she approached the body. “Joyce?”

      Kneeling, she shook her shoulder. “Joyce? Are you okay?”

      Nothing.

      Elena turned the woman over. It was Joyce. Her eyes were open, staring into nothing. Elena shook Joyce’s shoulders, but there was no reaction.

      Releasing her, Elena’s fingers skated over Joyce’s chest and encountered a wet spot. Elena jerked her hands back. Although she couldn’t see the color of the liquid, she could smell the coppery scent. Blood.

      Stumbling to her feet, she turned. A figure materialized out of the darkness, and before she could react, something crashed into her head turning the world black.

      

      Detective Daniel Stillwater and his partner, Raul Rodriguez, climbed out of their police-issued sedan. Two police cruisers and the evidence van dotted the area around Amarillo Plaza in old town Santa Fe, closing down traffic on the street.

      “Hey, Stillwater, you get this case?” Patrolman Mark Sanchez called out.

      “We did. You the first responder?”

      “Yeah, Icenhour and I caught the call. He’s inside with the lady who found the body. She’s not in too good a shape, crying and blubbering, but you know what a talker Icenhour is. He can soothe things over.”

      Daniel stepped into the antique shop and looked around. The overhead lights beat down harshly on the old furniture and elegant collections in the room. He couldn’t figure out what folks saw in this old stuff. It looked like some of the stuff in his aunt’s house. The evidence lieutenant looked up from his evidence kit.

      “Find anything?” Raul asked.

      “No.” The tech stood. “There was a collection of smudged prints on the doorknob, but there’s nothing I’ve discovered in the shop. The vic was stabbed several times in the chest and bled out.”

      “Thanks, Greg,” Daniel replied. He scanned the shop and didn’t see anyone else. A set of wooden stairs divided the room, leading to the second floor. “Where’s the witness?”

      “She and Icenhour are upstairs in the office.”

      Daniel and Raul climbed the stairs, their shoes echoing heavily on the worn wooden treads.

      “Is there anyone I can call for you?” Icenhour’s voice floated out the open door at the top.

      When they reached the top riser, they scanned the area. To the right, the space opened out to a storage area piled with boxes, chairs and carpets. To the left was a door marked Office. Looking inside, Daniel saw Icenhour sitting in a chair next to a woman. She held an ice pack to her left temple. In her late twenties, she had shoulder-length straight black hair with a sprinkling of bangs across her forehead. Those bangs brought a man’s gaze to her golden-brown eyes. Twin tracks of tears ran down her pale, smooth cheeks.

      She looked up, and Icenhour turned.

      “Detectives, this is Elena Jackson, who found the body.” He finished the introductions then stood. “I’ll go downstairs and see if they need any help.”

      Raul took Icenhour’s seat. Daniel grabbed a chair in the corner and pulled it close. He took a notebook and pen from his coat pocket. “Tell me what happened this evening, Ms. Jackson.”

      She set the ice pack on the desk. “I forgot some papers I needed and was